


Bred in the Bone

by BonesAndScales



Series: Lay my heart down [8]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Caning, Dom Will Graham, Figging, Forced Submission, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Sub Hannibal Lecter, biological doms and subs, public spanking, shock collar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:47:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26645509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BonesAndScales/pseuds/BonesAndScales
Summary: Strange that it was only when they secured the shock collar around his neck that Hannibal really felt the fatality of his situation, as though he had been looking at the surreal spectacle of his life crumbling to pieces through the eyes of another until then.Hannibal has been hiding as a Dominant for decades. It had to come crashing down, eventually.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Lay my heart down [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1930498
Comments: 6
Kudos: 141
Collections: Sub Hannibal Week 2020





	Bred in the Bone

**Author's Note:**

> For the life of me I can't remember who (maybe reg?), but someone asked for biological sub!Hannibal hiding as a Dom, being discovered and given to Dom!Will for rehab. Many thanks to eth for the beta! It was supposed to be much longer but I ran out of time, so I'm only posting the first scene. If there's any interest from readers, I'll try to post the rest later. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Strange that it was only when they secured the shock collar around his neck that Hannibal really felt the fatality of his situation, as though he had been looking at the surreal spectacle of his life crumbling to pieces through the eyes of another until then.

He had remained calm when he saw the realisation in the eyes of the man who had come to visit his office to investigate an old case. He had remained calm later when the agents barged into his home as he was packing to leave. He had remained calm as, along with his murders, they had discovered that he had been hiding as a dominant for decades, falsifying his papers ever since his arrival in the United States. He had remained calm when they had put him in a hospital for submissives, locked him in a cage barely big enough for him to sit up, and he had remained calm as they had slandered his name throughout the trial.

He was present now, and the panic was starting to build up as the sentence was decided and they brought him to the room where he would be given to his appointed rehabilitation dominant, and subsequently disciplined by said dominant.

It was already mortifying enough to be disciplined in public, it had to be at the hands of the man who had caught him. Said man was now allowed by right to dictate every aspect of his life for the next several months, perhaps years. Hannibal would have preferred a life in a prison cell rather than kneeling at the feet of another.

Hannibal had escaped the chair thanks to the country's extremely backwards views about submissives’ free will and ability to live on their own and on their own terms--he should have listened to his aunt in that respect and stayed in France. Either way, those stereotypes had been the backbone of his insanity plea: a neglected submissive gone too long without the guiding hand of a dominant, and in consequence experiencing extreme distress that pushed him to murder.

Hannibal had denied every word of that plea, not that the words of a submissive had any weight in a courtroom.

Chained, collared and flanked by four officers, he was led to a large room where dozens of people were waiting for him, their eyes turning as one to the entrance when they arrived. The chairs were arranged in a large circle, at the center of which had been installed a pillory where he would be secured. Standing on the other side of the circle stood the man that had sealed his fate.

Will Graham.

Hannibal had memorised his face, his scent, his voice, his gait… he had made an exact replica of him in his mind and subjected him to all the tortures he had inflicted upon every single one of his victims. He had killed Will Graham a thousand times for ruining his life, and he would kill him a thousand times more until the day came when he would tear his beating heart out of his chest and crush it between his teeth.

The officers disrobed him brusquely, all but ripping the prison suit off of him. It was a relief more than anything not to feel the coarse fabric against his sensitive skin anymore, but not enough to overpower the terrible feeling of being exposed to dozens of pigs looking down on him with all the condescension of well-meaning jailers. _The poor thing_ they had called him, _so much stress he must have endured on his own_ they had belittled him. Hannibal could feel the shock collar prickling as his aggression simmered under his skin.

He forced himself to calm down and focused on the one person in the room that did not watch him like a pitiful creature.

Will Graham was still staring at him with clear, alert eyes, with the sharpness of a predator facing another. He had seen the horrors Hannibal was capable of, and he did not fool himself thinking this was all the work of a distraught submissive.

Neither of them paid attention to the judge repeating the sentence that had already been pronounced earlier in the courtroom. They held each other’s gaze until they could not anymore as Hannibal was put into the pillory, head and wrists tightly held, and ankles secured in steel bars. One of the guards held his jaws open, thumbs brazenly thrust inside his mouth--thumbs he would have lost, were it any other situation--to let another guard slip a bit between his teeth. On the other side of him, the third guard was holding his cheeks open, exposing him, for the last officer to push a--

He gave an involuntary jolt, pulling on his bonds as the cold ginger root was inserted inside him. The collar sparkled, making him clench around the root. He bit down and forced himself to relax, breathing deeply. The agent in front of him stroked his hair, shushing him. Hannibal wanted to bite that hand off. Before he could give it a second thought, Will Graham came into his line of sight.

“I’ll take over from here, officers,” came his voice, low and firm.

The officers deserted the place at once, standing to the side to watch the spectacle about to unfold--public disciplining of submissives were not uncommon, but he was hardly any submissive, was he.

Will Graham came to stand in front of him, one hand cupping his jaw, lifting his face to make their eyes meet. Hannibal did not bother hiding his disdain and braced himself for yet one more condescending speech. It did not come.

“Stay with me. The more you resist, the longer this will take,” Will Graham said softly, so low only Hannibal could hear it.

Hannibal only had time to arch an eyebrow before the hand released his chin, and Will Graham circled the pillory, taking his place behind him. Hannibal braced himself, flexing his fingers and forcing himself not to clench any gluteal muscle as the heat was building around the ginger root.

The first lash caught him by surprise, that sort of pain was something entirely foreign to him. It left a searing line of fire across his cheeks, immediately followed by the sting of the root as he tightened up. How vicious.

A man on his left counted the first stroke.

Caught between both torments, Hannibal unclenched his teeth, then, gradually, every muscle from his hands down to his legs.

Barely had he found the least uncomfortable balance of tension that the cane hissed through the air. He bit down on a cry, knees buckling and back arching. The bars pressed painfully into his ankles but it was nothing compared to the bite of the cane. His rectum was aflame as he squeezed on the root. Fisting his hands until his nails dug deep crescents in his palms, he panted around the bit, saliva trickling out of his mouth in a thick trail.

When they had announced ten strokes--a grace from the court instead of the usual twenty as this would be the very first time he would taste punishment--he had almost snorted. Throughout his life he had endured more severe tortures, physically and mentally. As the man on his left counted the second stroke, as the back of his eyes prickled with tears, he reassessed his judgement.

As the third stroke caught the overwhelmingly sensitive crease between his cheeks and thighs, he threw himself into the safety of his mind palace. Nestled in the warm parlour of his home, he experienced the next two strokes as though underwater, blessedly muted. The pain was registered in a part of him that he watched from afar, storing it in a labeled jar for later perusal.

An unforgiving hand pulling on his hair forced him back into his tortured body. He snarled, blinking up at Will Graham and sending tears rolling down his cheeks into the pool of saliva on the floor, his muscles seizing at once and igniting all the points of pain on and in his rear.

His nails drew blood, jaws holding onto the bit so tight they trembled as he forced his body to relax.

Will Graham watched him battle against his torments with an inscrutable stare. Not indifference, nor amusement, nor pleasure. Simply… curiosity. He was such a perfect reflection of Hannibal in that respect that for a moment the room disappeared, leaving only the two of them in mutual appraisal. The moment was short lived as Will Graham’s grip tightened in his hair, locking him in the present and in his current agony.

“Stay with me,” he repeated, just as low, just as firm. “Stay with me till the end.”

Hannibal did not give any answer but the sharpness of his own gaze. It seemed to be satisfactory as he let go of Hannibal’s hair and circled the pillory again.

He forced himself to endure the monstrous pain of the five remaining strokes, struggling as far as his bonds would allow, biting so hard he was sure to leave an indent on the bit. When finally his torture was over, he was left a writhing, heaving mess, panting and drooling and slobbering around the bit.

A long, quiet moment filled with nothing but his gasps followed the last stroke, and thus released from the torment of anticipation he felt at once the dozens of stares upon his pitiful form. A wave of pure anger and disgust washed over him, activating the shock collar. His entire body jolted, a cry of pain pushing out of his lungs as all aches peaked. When they recessed, he slumped in his bonds, legs trembling, barely able to hold him upright.

The judge announced the satisfactory completion of the punishment, and formal claps erupted around him. Baltimore released a breath of relief as the Chesapeake Ripper was finally put in the firm hands of a dominant. Fools. _Pigs_.

He could not hold back a high pitched cry when the root was pulled out of his ass. The sting of the ginger ebbed away gradually but the lines of fire criss crossing his skin only flared up with the slightest contraction of his gluteal.

A hand came to rest on his head, so incredibly gentle as it combed sweaty strands back and out of his face.

“It’s over now. You did very well,” came Will Graham’s voice, equally as gentle, equally as repulsing.

Hannibal kept his face down, loath to show him the fruit of his work. Will Graham did not force his head up and instead circled him again. Large, calloused hands rubbed cold lotion on Hannibal’s inflamed skin, first aggravating the pain, but quickly warming up and soothing the welts. As Will Graham kept massaging his ass and thighs, the agents approached to remove the bars around his ankles and unlock the pillory. They extracted the bit from his mouth and indeed his teeth had left a shallow indent on the surface.

Will Graham helped him down to his knees as the shaking in Hannibal’s legs had yet to subside. A thick cloth was draped over his shoulders and he used it to rub the sweat and saliva and tears from his face. After exchanging a few more words with the judge, the session was officially closed, Will Graham crouched down to attach a leash to the collar, sealing their arrangement.

Hannibal finally turned his gaze on him, full of hatred and dark promises. Will Graham did not falter.

“Let’s go home, Hannibal.”

In that mouth, his name rang like a death knell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kachings below if you enjoyed it :3


End file.
